fire and blood
by jinglebellsisawesome
Summary: Flame-stained shadows, blood-kissed corpses: Daenerys Targaryen looks over her new kingdom and finds it good.


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The smoke is not yet cleared when Queen Daenerys I Targaryen stands amongst the battlements of city she is destined to rule.

_I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will._

She was born for this, moulded for it, this precise moment; it's all she could think about for years – it is her birth right, her legacy, her fate. And the Seven Kingdoms are destined to be ruled by a fair and just Queen, not a tyrant. The people deserve that, at least.

They will have a celebration, she decides, to commemorate the death of the last tyrant to ever rule King's Landing. It is important for the people to acknowledge their saviour, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and understand that what she has done has all been for them. Her whole life has been leading up to this – every action, thought, breath has fashioned her into the ruler the Seven Kingdoms deserve.

_Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell... they're all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top, and on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground._

_I'm not going to stop the wheel. I'm going to break the wheel._

And now she is the Wheel.

Fire and blood: it is all she can see, can smell, can taste and she finds it glorious. A symbol of her reign to come. Fire is her champion, her constant companion, her ally. For years, it was all she had – her fire and her dragons.

_I will take what is mine. With fire and blood, I will take it._

All she wanted was a home. Hers had been stolen from her against her will and she could do nothing but watch as her brother buckled under the weight of all they had lost. Viserys could never bear to think on the past; not until he had sold their mother's crown and she witnessed his descent into the madness of grief.

Daenerys had sworn a solemn vow then and there that she would never again allow herself to be rendered to such a state of powerlessness.

She will achieve great things, she foresees, with the people by her side. They will be united in their equal love for her. None will oppose her when they understand that she has been sent here for a purpose; for them. Then they will know her truth.

Daenerys Targaryen:

First of Her Name.

The Unburnt.

Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.

Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.

Protector of the Realm.

Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms.

Breaker of Chains.

Mother of Dragons.

How can they resist their messiah?

Yet the longer she listens to the screams of those around her the less she feels secure in the knowledge that these people welcome her right to rule. She can hear no _Mhysa_! amongst the crowd. Nor is she looking upon a thankful kingdom for these are not cries of love, of worship, of adoration – no, these are howls of hatred, of anguish, of fear. Cersei Lannister never received such vicious and cruel calls such as these, Daenerys thinks, and her eyes darken.

By all rights, she should receive a better reception than this inhuman imitation. She is not and never could be Cersei Lannister nor even her father and yet somehow this is the reward she receives for her liberation of King's Landing.

_We will lay waste to armies and burn cities to the ground. Turn us away and we will burn you first._

They had turned her away.

They will not be making that mistake again.

Her breaths come in quick succession then: angry and hot and out for blood and she does not wish to tame them, to cool them with ice. She is fire made flesh – a dragon like her father before her, the last rightful King on the Iron Throne. Until her.

_I am the Dragon's Daughter and I swear to you that those who would harm you will die screaming._

She unwillingly recalls her old sworn shield's words regarding her lord father all those years ago in an ungrateful Meeren. "The Mad King gave his enemies the justice he thought they deserved, and each time it made him feel powerful and right." But she takes no pleasure in taming wild animals as her father obviously had when he abused his power over innocents.

_I am not my father._

And yet sometimes even the best of those people grow unruly and need to be mastered for their own sake, she reminds herself. Her late dragons had to be chained for their own good as punishment for their brother's crime for they had all grown beyond her commands. When they were released, they did not disobey her again.

A horse needs to be broken in before it can be ridden, this she knows from experience.

_People learn to love their chains._

The scent of death is like poison in the air and Daenerys is drunk on the fumes. Death by fire is the purest death, she muses; the fire cleanses the soul of sin, burning the shadow of crime so the spirit can rest.

And as Daenerys breaths in the scattered remains of fallen innocents, she finds solace in the new world she will create from the ashes of its predecessor.

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You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. ~ _The Dark Knight_

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End file.
